Page 130 of Scandal
“Most people don’t take that long to wake up, but I guess you’ve lived a bit of a charmed life, haven’t you, princess?”
I try to respond before I remember I can’t, but it comes out garbled and unintelligible.
He laughs, and the sound is menacing. In uniform, he looks younger. Innocent, despite his large build. With his pale-blond hair combed back and the smattering of freckles, I realize how easily I once overlooked him in the halls and the cottage in the highlands.
But standing here before me now, in dirty jeans and a bare chest full of tattoos that I would definitely classify as toxic red flags, he’s scaring the hell out of me.
How long have I been here?
Where exactlyishere?
Where is Asher?
My eyes squeeze shut as I imagine just how scared he must be. A tear leaks out of the corner of my eye and down my cheek.
“Aww, is the princess scared?”
It’s cute when my sister calls me that, but not him.
No, definitely not him.
I give him a scathing look, which only makes him laugh. “You know, I was there that night when he brought you into the estate, trying to convince me you two were just friends. But I knew better. I knew he wouldn’t risk the anonymity the rest of us were working so hard to protect for someone unless they were special. And I was right.”
Who the hell is this guy?
If he is the one who’s been sending all those texts to Asher, what’s his angle? I wish he’d take this stupid gag out of my mouth so I could probe him for answers.
I make a few more noises, hoping he gets tired of basically talking to himself, but he doesn’t move. He just stands there in the same stoic pose, staring at me with that awful smile as if he’s won some game I didn’t realize we were playing.
A faint knock comes from outside the room, and his grin widens. “Our guest of honor is here.”
What? What does that mean? Oh god. He can’t mean Asher? Can he?
I start shouting, despite my gag, begging him to do anything—let me go, stay, anything but open that door. But he ignores me and walks out anyway.
I feel panicked. I’ve managed to stay calm until now, but the thought of Asher walking into some kind of trap sends me into a spiral. I frantically twist my wrists and ankles, trying to loosen the knots in the rope, but neither moves. I wiggle in the metal chair, but all that does is create a loud scraping sound against the tile floor and move me just an inch closer to the door.
Two sets of footsteps draw near, and my heartbeat triples. I look around desperately, searching for something. Anything.
I feel so fucking helpless.
Then the door opens, and I gasp.
The second man is not Asher. It’s Mitch Zegler.
He stops in his tracks, eyes widening in horror as they focus on the ropes around my ankles, then drift to my chest before locking on the gag in my mouth. “Ian? What the fuck is this?”
Although I’ve never met him, I recognize his face immediately from the many band photos and videos I watched as a teen. He’s aged significantly since then, with wisps of silver at his temples and deep lines around his large brown eyes.He looks much older than the other founding members, even though they’re all roughly the same age.
Ian doesn’t seem to notice Mitch’s grim expression and seems to beam with pride. “I got you a present.”
“A present?” Mitch exclaims in disgust. “Are you fucking serious, Ian? Why the hell would you ever think I’d want you to do something like this?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before he strides across the room. His steps slow, however, when he sees me flinch. “I’m sorry,” he says softly in his regal British accent. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just going to get rid of this, yeah?” He motions with a shaky hand to the fabric wedged in my mouth. I nod.
With the utmost care, like he’s approaching a tiny bird, he takes the last few steps and then reaches out to loosen the knot at the nape of my neck. He pulls it free, and it drops to the floor. My jaw feels sore, and my lips are dry.
“You all right?” he asks in a low voice.
